


Cold Storage

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bickering, Gen, Hallucinations, Post-Oculus Leonard Snart, Rescue, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Snart stops a few feet away, cocking his head and looking down at Iris. Something about his appraisal makes her uncomfortable. Couldn't she have hallucinated someone more sympathetic? Barry, maybe. Or Eddie. Her dad. Anyone but a supervillain-cum-occasional-ally who barely even likes her."Fine." Snart draws out the word until one syllable becomes three. "I guess I can help out. Would be a shame, having you die in a cold storage room of all places. Not that I wouldn't appreciate the irony."
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart (hinted), Leonard Snart & Iris West
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	Cold Storage

**Author's Note:**

> This was once supposed to be the beginning of a much longer fic, but it has been sitting in my WIP folder for _forever_ (October 2017, precisely) and it's becoming increasingly clear that the rest of it will never be written. 
> 
> I don't usually post unfinished works, but I liked the opening scene too much to just delete it, and I thought what I had written could stand more or less on its own, so I cleaned it up a little and... well, here we are! 
> 
> (Please ignore the faulty lock-picking practice. This isn't how it works IRL, so don't try this when you're actually locked in a meat-locker. Also, please don't get yourself locked in a meat-locker!)

Cold. 

The chill seeps through Iris's clothes and underneath her skin, burrowing deep into her flesh and bones. It's everywhere, overwhelming and all-encompassing. 

The blood loss doesn't help. Half an hour ago, when Gianni Santini and his friends locked her in the meat locker, she'd been able to feel the sticky wetness of blood making her shirt cling to shoulder, but a dangerous numbness has taken over now, drowsiness clouding her mind and dulling any sensation except for the cold. She shouldn't fall asleep, she can't let herself pass out or she won't be waking up anymore, but with every minute that passes it becomes more of a struggle to make her eyes stay open. 

She gives her handcuffed wrists a sharp tug, metal digging into flesh. The pain is immediate, shooting from the wound in her shoulder down into her fingertips. A welcome distraction. For a moment it works. The sharpness of it grounds her; it jolts her consciousness back into her body and stops her from drifting off. But soon, it won't be enough anymore. 

She can't think of that now. She needs to—

"I'm all for _chilling out_ , but you seem to have taken the meaning a bit too literally."

Her head snaps up at the darkly amused drawl coming from behind her, the familiarity of it cutting through the fog in her head.

Leaning against the heavy door is Leonard Snart, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking her up and down in a calculating way. There's something about the cool blue-eyed gaze that makes her shiver, irrationally, like an extra layer of frost adding to the freezing coldness of the room.

How did Snart get in here? She didn't hear the door, and he wasn't here a minute ago. Or was he? 

She frowns, trying to make sense of his presence before she remembers— "You're dead."

"Quite," he agrees, and dread sinks its claws into her. 

Seeing dead people probably isn't a good sign. Add the bullet wound and the sub-zero temperatures, and all signs point to her body and her mind shutting down. She twists her arms again, hoping for a renewed jolt of pain to clear her head again, but when she blinks and grinds her teeth against the agony, Snart's still where he was, watching her dispassionately. 

He seems to agree with her assessment of the situation. "So will you be, very soon. Unless you manage to get out of here before you faint from the blood loss. What would Barry say, after all the trouble he went through to save you from his evil alter ego?"

He makes it sound like it's her fault, like she _let herself_ get shot and captures on purpose to cause Barry pain. Her fists, trapped behind her back, clench in frustration.

"I _tried_. I can't get out of the cuffs." 

Why is she arguing with a hallucination? 

Snart clicks his tongue, disapproval dripping from his tone. "Didn't Detective West teach you some basic skills? Cop's daughter, defeated by a pair of handcuffs? Pretty embarrassing."

"Dad's very 'by the books'. At least he used to be, before Barry became the Flash." 

Her father taught her self-defense and honed her observational kills. How to get out of handcuffs and picking locks weren't lessons he considered prudent for the upstanding citizen he expected her to become. In hindsight, yeah... maybe his faith in how her life would turn out was misplaced. He probably didn't imagine there'd be a day when his little girl would get caught snooping around the mob and get locked in a refrigerated van with only a dead criminal for company.

Snart sighs dramatically and pushes himself off the door, stepping closer. 

He's only wearing a thin leather jacket. If he were real – if he were _alive_ – he'd be freezing. She isn't sure why she isn't hallucinating him in the familiar blue parka. Perhaps it's her subconscious trying to fool her into ignoring the cold. If it is, then it's not working.

He stops a few feet away, cocking his head and looking down at her. Something about his appraisal makes her uncomfortable. Couldn't she have hallucinated someone more sympathetic? Barry, maybe. Or Eddie. Her dad. Anyone but a supervillain-cum-occasional-ally who barely even likes her.

"Fine." Snart draws out the word until one syllable becomes three. "I guess I can help out. Would be a shame, having you die in a cold storage room of all places. Not that I wouldn't appreciate the irony." 

Iris wishes she had her hands free so she could slap the smirk off his face. Why Barry is so fond of the man has always been a mystery to her.

Snart huffs like this is all a great inconvenience to him. "I'll walk you through what to do. Just follow my lead and you'll be out of here in no time."

She frowns. Something about his plan is bothering her, grating on the edge of her mind, an insistent, niggling feeling of wrongness; but when she reaches for it, it slips away, her mind too slow from the freezing cold and the pain and steady loss of blood. 

"Here's what you do—" Snart begins, breaking into step-by-step instructions to guide her through the escape, like Houdini revealing his trick to an eager student. Even though Iris's fingers are numb and sluggish, lacking dexterity, it barely takes three minutes until the cuffs clutter to the floor with a hollow, metallic sound. 

A pleased expression takes over Snart's face. "You're a quick study."

Iris smiles at the compliment, despite herself. "Thanks." 

When she stands, her legs wobble dangerously. A hand clamps around her uninjured arm, holding on tightly while she regains her balance. The touch is a steady pressure that grounds her. 

"Huh." Snart stares down at his hand with a look of confusion. 

Before Iris can ask what's wrong, his eyes narrow, expression becoming unreadable again. 

" _Careful_ now, Iris. Door's still locked. You lose consciousness now, it's game over."

His fingers are tight around her upper arm. She wants to bat his hand away, but she's not sure if she could keep on her feet without the support. 

"You gonna teach me how to pick that lock, too?"

He snorts. "It's a simple electronic lock. Short-circuiting it should do the trick."

Okay, right. She can do that. Her fingers are shaking when she pulls the wires free, and they keep slipping from her fingers. She swears quietly, and her breath faintly fogs in front of her face.

"Watch it. Wouldn't want you to electrocute yourself."

Snart's voice comes from right at her ear, and when she turns her head, he's right there in her personal space, looking over her shoulder. He's standing close enough that she should be able to see his breath in the air, feel the warmth of it fan against her cheek. She should. She doesn't. 

_Hallucination,_ she reminds herself. _He's not really here._

"You could offer to lend a hand instead of giving unhelpful advice," she tells him anyway, turning back to the lock. 

She could swear that she feels his body pressing against her side, not as warm as it should be but firm and solid in a way that's almost real. Dammit. She's losing it, isn't she?

Behind her, Snart chuckles. "Don't worry. I'm sure you got it."

It's the certainty in his tone, that unexpected vote of confidence, that steadies Iris's hands enough to work the wires loose and fiddle with them until they give off a tiny spark and the lock opens with a click.

She shoots Snart a triumphant look as she pushes against the door. It barely gives. She leans against it with her whole weight, the pain in her shoulder searing like a white-hot blade. A wave of dizziness hits her right in the face, but she can't let that stop her, she needs to keep pushing. 

"Careful," Snart warns, but she can't—She can't be careful now, not when freedom is so close.

"I've got it."

At last, the door creaks and gives way. 

The night air hits Iris like a blow, its warmth a shock to her system. She stumbles out of the van on wobbly legs. The ground is rising up towards her, fast and faster. Blackness closes in on her vision, and down she goes.

"Iris." Cool fingers slide against her neck. "Gotta make everything difficult, don't you?"

She tries to protest, but her tongue won't obey.

"Iris. Can you hear me?"

#

"Can you hear me?"

Cisco's voice breaks through to her consciousness, and Iris fights against the overwhelming urge to let herself be dragged under again.

She blinks her eyes open and takes in the familiar surroundings. The first aid station at S.T.A.R. Labs. How did she get here? The last thing she remembers— The mob goons. The cold storage van. Snart.

"How did you find me?" Her voice sounds raw, and tiny needles prickle in her throat when she speaks.

"We tracked your phone after you called us."

No, that's not right. She shakes her head. "I didn't call you."

"Yes, you did. Well, you called Barry." Cisco reaches behind himself and waves her phone in front of her face, the call history clearly showing an outgoing call to Barry at 4:16. "You didn't say anything, so we knew something was wrong."

Iris frowns. She remembers collapsing right outside the meat locker. It's possible that she regained just enough consciousness to have made the call but not enough to remember it. 

It's not that unlikely.

But there's the thing that was bothering her before, and now that she's awake and aware enough, she can't ignore it any longer: She's heard plenty of stories about people in dire situations hallucinating something or someone that helps them get through the ordeal. But she doesn't _know_ how to pick a pair of handcuffs. It's not knowledge her subconscious could possibly draw from and frame it as a hallucination. 

She remembers Snart's steadying hand on her arm, the surprised expression on his face, and she wishes she had it in her to leave it well enough alone, pretend that none of it was real.

But Snart broke into A.R.G.U.S. to help Barry save her without asking for anything in return, and he made sure she didn't die in the meat locker – and even if it wasn't about _owing_ him, Iris can't shake the memory of Barry's distraught face whenever someone mentions Snart's death, like it's an open wound that hasn't healed quite yet.

If there's a chance that Snart isn't as dead as they've assumed and she didn't tell Barry, he'd never forgive her. She'd never forgive herself.

She sits up and swings her legs out of the bed. 

"Whoa, hold on!" Cisco holds his hands up like he wants to physically put a barrier between Iris and the door. "Caitlin will want to—"

"Not now, Cisco. Caitlin can give me a proper check-up later. First there's something we— _someone_ we need to save."

For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue, but the determination in her tone seem enough to make his resolve crumble. His shoulders drop, and he doesn't make a move to stop Iris as she stands and takes a few unsteady steps into the Cortex. A memory hits her: the day Savitar was going to kill her, Barry walking into here with Snart in tow. She still remembers Snart's glee about Team Flash needing his help. 

What was it he said? 'Make the plan. Execute the plan. Expect the plan to go off the rails. Throw away the plan.' 

So if her plan now involves returning to that cold place between life and death where Snart found her last night, he'd probably get a kick out of it. Even if it's bound to go off the rails. Especially then.

_You better not make me regret this, Snart,_ she thinks hard at the empty room.

Perhaps the amused drawl that tells her, _'No promises.'_ is all in her head. 

Or maybe it's not.

End


End file.
